


S**t Outta Love

by ThereWasStillTime



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comedy, F/M, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereWasStillTime/pseuds/ThereWasStillTime
Summary: If I tell you, you might not read it!Title taken from a Nick Helm song.
Relationships: Charlotte Campbell Ross/Cormoran Strike, Matthew Cunliffe/Robin Ellacott, Matthew Cunliffe/Sarah Shadlock, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 32
Kudos: 30
Collections: The Cormoran Strike Fest of Firsts





	1. You've got a boyfriend but he doesn't love you

“If he wants to pay me to just do the basics and not bother with the loopholes, so he pays less tax, I don’t care! I get paid the same whatever. But earning what he does and how much tax he has to pay, he’s mad!”

The corner of Robin’s mouth quirked upwards, politely showing interest in Tom’s tedious chat as they waited for Matthew and Sarah to bring their drinks from the bar. Robin could just see Matthew and Sarah behind a rather angry, tall man who took up a lot of the bar area as he held one hand to his ear and seemed to be talking angrily into his mobile. She felt a wave of guilt as she kept an eye on them. Robin tore her eyes away and back to Tom, trying to show true interest on what he was saying as repentance.

The stand-up comedian that was his client had put Tom’s name on the door plus friends. Sarah had used it as an excuse to invite them for yet another excruciating double date. Matthew had insisted they come. Now it was becoming clear why. Matthew and Sarah got to spend time together while Robin and Tom were left to distract each other.

“Has he invited you to one of his gigs before?” She asked Tom.

“No, this is the first time since he became a client. Do you like him?” he didn’t even wait for Robin to answer, the small amount of alcohol he had drunk already was easily taking effect, “Sarah used to watch him on television a few years back. But I think he had some kind of breakdown or something, so he’s not been in the public eye for a while. I don’t really pay much attention to comedy really, I don’t really like it myself,”

“I hadn’t heard of him until Matthew mentioned about coming tonight,” For a long time, Robin had not been in the mood for mindless comedy shows. After she left University, she had in fact hardly watched television. She would pretend to, so her Mum and Dad didn’t worry any more than they were already, but she had found it hard to concentrate and was not able to take it in.

Robin tried to focus again on what Tom was saying, asking him, “You don’t like 'this kind' of comedy? What kind?”

“Well, it’s all a bit too PC now, can’t laugh at anyone anymore,”

“Oh, okay,” Robin said, barely concealing a roll of her eyes, she couldn’t help herself, again she scanned the bar area. The large bear-like man that had almost blocked her view of them before, moved his arm to shove his mobile into his pocket, just in time to reveal Sarah move closer to Matthew. She was pressing herself against him and Robin watched as her hand drifting down his arm, then across his chest. Then down a bit further. Just for a fraction of a moment, but it was unmistakable what Sarah had just done. Matthew certainly didn’t look as if he was uncomfortable under Sarah’s touch. Robin’s heart began to thump hard in her chest. Her suspicions finally confirmed. The noise of the club merged to drown out Tom’s wittering. No wonder they were taking so long to get the drinks. She could not make a scene. Matthew knew she didn’t like public humiliation. He would take the opportunity to just be dismissive, probably deny everything as usual and if that didn’t work become snide and verbally tie her into knots. She would have to wait until she got home.

An oblivious Tom continued to prattle on, returning the subject back to his and Matthew’s boring work. She nodded along, smiling engagingly while keeping an eye on her husband and Sarah as they finally seemed to be ordering the drinks.

* * *

“Charlotte?” Dave asked over the top of his drink.

Cormoran Strike pushed the phone into his jeans pocket and looked at his friend sideways, “She’s not coming, don’t worry. I think I’ve finally convinced her that I’m finished with her for good…finally,”

Dave looked sceptical, “Hope so mate. Don’t want her fucking this up for you. You’re on the cusp of getting it all back…you know… after the accident and everything,”

Strike took a long sip of his Doom Bar, “Yup!”

He didn’t have the will or inclination to carry on with the subject of the hard slog it had been getting back on the circuit after the accident. The physical and mental battle of recovery. If another arrogant-wanker-heckler shouted, “Thought you were dead or did you wanna die on stage?” he’d break his fucking guitar over their head. Now was not the time to think about that though, otherwise, he’d be walking out the bar, down the staircase, across Soho and back to his attic flat before drowning himself in booze. This was the last warm-up gig before the tour, it had taken him a while to get back in his stride. Tonight, had to go well, or word would get out that the material was shit and that would be Edinburgh fucked. There would be definitely no casting for the pilot show he was hoping to get. And he needed it. The humiliation of having to accept a loan from his indifferent father to finance Edinburgh had been humiliating enough. Failure to get himself back on track would be even worse.

“Is that girl looking over at us?” Dave said, with an inappropriate amount of excitement for a happily married man.

“Which one?” Strike feigned interest, but comedian groupie attention was something he was frankly sick of.

“Sat down,” Dave nodded to the seating area in front of them and nudged Strike when he was looking in the right direction, “With the balding guy - the blonde – very attractive,”

Strike looked towards where Dave had nodded, pessimism creased his brow as he squinted his eyes in assessment. He saw the girl sat near the stage. She was lovely, the stage lights catching her hair so it glinted gold. Although, the horrified look on her face suggested that what he had become was not what she had expected though. Not this fat, one-legged, old fuck of a failure.


	2. He's always acting like he's miles above you

“Robin! Here you are -”

Robin turned away from Tom to where Sarah stood over her, holding out the glass to her. Her smile was wide and bright. Completely fake. Robin reached up to take the wine glass from her husband’s lover. Suddenly, Sarah’s hand juddered, tipping the glass dangerously. Robin tried to move back from the gushing of wine, but the chairs were crowded in around the stage and there was nowhere to go. The clear liquid splashed down Robin’s front as if she needed another cold splash of the reality of her situation.

Robin froze as the liquid dripped uncomfortably down her front before soaking into the waistband of her jeans. Her thin white t-shirt was now rendered see-through. She pulled it away from her as quickly as she could and let the wine drip from where it had splashed the arms of the leather biker jacket she wore over the top. _Shit, shit, shit!_ What was Sarah thinking? Robin suspected, from the barely concealed smirk on Sarah's face, that the cow had done it on purpose.

“I’m so sorry Robin,” Sarah gushed. She handed over the glasses to Tom and pointlessly stood with her hand to her own chest in, Robin discerned, fake surprise, “I’m so clumsy, I tripped on the chair leg,”

Robin stopped herself from saying, _like when you just_ _tripped and accidentally groped my husband’s penis!_

“What have you done Robs?” Matthew’s face was a mixture of humour and disapproval, “You look a bit of a mess,” he dumbly held the four pints he had bought for Tom and himself. 

“It was utterly my fault Matthew!” Sarah looked up at him, downcast and doll-like, as if it was for Matthew to forgive her, “It’s just so crowded in here,”  
  


“Don’t worry, Sarah. Robin will be alright, won’t you Babe? It’ll dry.” with that Matthew sat down without a second look at Robin.

Robin stood up, incensed, dripping onto the floor. No one tried to help her or even offered her tissues. The others were too busy passing drinks back and forth. She stood up trying not to show how cross she was, or how much she needed to get away from the devious Sarah and unsympathetic, faithless, Matthew.

“I’ll just try and dry myself off in the toilets,” she muttered.

No one seemed to have heard her. Matthew had already started a conversation with Tom and did not appear to be listening. Standing up and squeezing through the rows of chairs, she looked back and noticed Sarah had finally grabbed some tissues out of her bag to wipe Robin’s seat before sitting there herself. This meant Robin would have to sit on the end of the row next to Tom, rather than her own husband. Not that she wanted to be anywhere near him right now. The reason why Matthew was always insisting on double dates with his work colleague and old college friend had become all too clear to Robin. She hated herself for thinking it, but Sarah was such a bitch. She was always flirting with Matthew. Damn Matthew. He was always encouraging it.

She pushed her way through the crowd at the bar. It suddenly occurred to Robin to wonder if Mathew and Sarah had actually gone as far as sleeping with one another and just how long it had been going on for. She felt her eyes well up and raised her hand to brush away any tears before they could fall. Her progress to the toilets was abruptly stopped as she came to a stop behind the man who had been on the phone near Matthew and Sarah. His wide back and shoulders were bear-like and formed a wall blocking her path to the toilets. To make it more difficult, people were crowded around him on either side, looking at him inconspicuously and outright conspicuously. No one was looking her way or looked as if they were going to move out of her way. Robin had reached her limit of feeling invisible.

She tapped the man on the shoulder and he half turned around, a brief flash of recognition on his face which settled into a jaded antagonism. Robin matched it. From a heavy brow, his grizzled, dark eyes looked down at her steely blue eyes, and he looked annoyed at being interrupted from his conversation with a much shorter, blonde man. She hoped she looked just as frustrated with him. dThe shorter man looked at Robin with an amused expression and a smile. Then Robin saw him take in the way she was clutching the front of her jacket over her chest and he looked quizzically at her.

“Can I get by?” Robin did not bother to keep the exasperation from her voice, holding out the soaked arms of her jacket so he could see she was in a hurry.

He had the decency to look immediately embarrassed, “Oh!” he shook his head slightly, annoyed with himself, “Yeah, sorry!” His voice was kind but raspy as if he smoked too much. His face broke into an apologetic smile which did a lot to soften his face into a more friendly, almost boyish expression. It was infectious and Robin found herself giving him a perfunctory smile back before walking past.

She made it to the women's toilet just as her t-shirt was making her skin cold and sticky; she was desperate to dry off. Low and behold, there was a queue nearly out the door, and the toilet was only small. There was room for one person to stand between the one cubicle and the basin. She sighed, having no other choice but to wait. The only other toilet was the men's.

“I can’t believe he’s just standing at the bar. Cormoran Strike’s crazy attractive!” One woman was saying to her much shorter friend as they waited in front of Robin in the queue. The smell of sour alcohol on the woman’s breath was overpowering as she spoke.

They were both already pretty drunk and leant on the door frame of the toilet in much the same way Robin had observed that the strippers did outside the few strip clubs left in Soho. Robin would have guessed them to be about her mum’s age, but could hardly picture Linda in a place like this.

“What are you talking about? He looks pretty abused and he’s got a dad gut,” her friend was clearly disgusted in her companion’s taste.

“Don’t let that put you off! Makes him look cuddly. I loved him in ‘Oh, Brother!’, I think they based the character on his act. He’s completely self-deprecating and not arrogant. He plays the guitar and sings these hilarious songs.

“Isn’t his dad Jonny Rokeby? Hardly had to struggle has he?” the friend was clearly still unimpressed.

“They don’t speak, and he grew up with his mum Leda Strike – the groupie from the seventies that killed herself, remember?”

Her friend shrugged vaguely.

“And he lost his leg in a motorbike accident. The tragedy of it just makes him sexier – he’s one of those men you just want to fix. I had a sex dream about him once, that’s how I got my thing for bearded men.”

“You’re so gross,” her friend said and they both collapsed into a fit of giggles.

Robin rolled her eyes and looked away sighing. Someone came out of the men’s toilet and she caught a glimpse of a hand dryer through the swinging door. The men’s was clearly empty. She looked around but couldn’t see anyone walking towards the toilet. She would have to risk it. If more places had unisex toilets this wouldn’t be a problem, so mentally she blamed the venue’s attitude to gendered toilets and quickly snuck inside.

Inside, the sharp smell of ammonia hit her, but she would just have to put up with it. Just like the women’s toilet, it was shoebox small. Robin decided she could put her foot against the door to stop anyone else coming in. However, when she took off her jacket looking for a dry, clean place to put it, there was nowhere. The small surface around the sink was covered in a film of water and she didn’t fancy hooking it over a toilet door. So, would have to pin the jacket between her knees. There was no way she could do that and block the door with her foot. She took a chance quickly stooping down, so her breasts were under the hand dryer, which immediately exploded into life, the waves of her hair blowing around her face. Time was of the essence, but as the seconds ticked by, the air from the dryer stayed cool and the t-shirt remained soaked. She pulled the neck away from her, so the force of air could blow directly on her skin to take the stickiness away.

That was when the door opened.


	3. So Dry Your Eyes and Put Your Lipstick On

Lunging for the door, Robin forgot about her jacket pinned between her knees, “No!” she squealed as the lunge turned into a plummet and she was catapulted towards the door.

“Fuck!” Strike grabbed the falling blonde girl with a large hand intending to grab the front of her t-shirt and a steadying palm on her back. Except then a shriek of pain emanated from her as they struggled to stop the forward trajectory and set her right again on the ground. That’s when he realised that his hand was gripped around her breast and not the t-shirt. He let go as if burnt.

Robin straightened up with a grimace, tears in her eyes, both hands over her left breast. She was starting to wonder what it had done tonight to offend so many people. She took a sharp intake of breath as she realised the boob groper was the tall, hairy, bear-like man from the bar. He was still towering in the doorway rather than having the decency to leave her alone.

Strike’s eyes dropped to where her see-through t-shirt had stuck to her breasts. The girl’s cheeks flushed and she turned her far-from-offending-him chest back toward the dryer, out of sight. He looked away quickly and stared at the wall behind her head.

“Sorry. You alright?” his deep voice was hesitant yet concerned, but his eyes were still wide.

“My t-shirt was…well you know that… so I needed the dryer but there’s a queue for the ladies,” she said miserably.

“Right. Got it…” He looked around the small space as if he was lost.

Robin stared back at him. Obviously, she didn’t want or need his company.

“Er...I’ll just…stand on guard outside, shall I? Keep anyone else out!” He kept his eyes firmly on the wall, “And let me know when you’re done?”

His offer of an act of kindness when everything seemed to be going to hell, forced the tears brimming in her eyes, to start flowing down her cheeks, “Would you?” she gulped.

The sudden appearance of tears and that she looked so grateful pushed him to give her his best crinkly eyes grin. Then he nodded quickly and backed sideways out of the door.

Outside, he stood calmly but his mind was racing, flicking through a myriad of images that he should not have been recalling..

“It’s out of action for a while mate, they’re fixing it,” he told a punter coming towards him. The man looked past him at the door “Fuck. Off.” Strike enunciated for him and the man scuttled away.

Strike leant his head back against the door and puffed out a breath. When she had needed to get by him at the bar, he had been struck by her steel-blue eyes, the full pout of her mouth and that wave of golden, burnished hair again. Weakly, he had watched the girl, walk away from him towards the toilet. The natural swing of her hips was sexy, even with her arms clutched around herself. He felt lighthearted. Strike realised how long it had been since he felt this way. And, how good it was to feel that way again. The wound on his brow that Charlotte had left him with that morning, dug a sharp pain as if warning him against giving in to the sudden warm feeling the girl had elicited. He had waited for her to return, planning an attempt to waylay her on her way back to the bar. He had tried to focus on the banter of the other comics that had joined him and Dave. Impatient, he had decided to walk over in the direction of the toilets, hoping that the girl would appear. But they’d been no sign of her waiting in the queue and he did not think hanging creepily around the toilets would endear himself to her. Finding her partially clothed in the men’s toilet had been an unexpected bonus. He closed his eyes as the memories of her in that t-shirt from different perspectives, formed in his mind’s eye again. He heard his mate Ilsa, who was the compere of the night, begin her introduction. There was no hurry though, Eric and Vanessa were on before him. He had at least three-quarters of an hour spare, as long as the girl was not too mortified to talk to him. The door pressed into him forcing him to stand upright, he turned and grabbed the handle to help open it. The girl appeared in the open doorway. Her jacket zipped up. Her smile embarrassed.

“All better?” 

“Pfft…It’s as good as it will get. Thanks, for…that,” she nodded at the door. 

Strike shrugged and held his hand out to her, “Cormoran,”

Robin smiled and took his hand, “Robin…oh you’re the - ” her eyes widened and she flushed again, embarrassed that she hadn’t recognised him as the comedian they had come to see. 

“Yep, unfortunately,” Strike just nodded once uncomfortably, “Anyway - can I get you another drink?” he nodded towards the bar.

Robin laughed, self-deprecating clearly wasn’t just part of his act. She looked over to the seats where Sarah and Matthew laughed, and Tom looked on. No one seemed to be missing her, “Okay, thanks,”

They sat in a booth with a card that said, “Reserved for Talent” and within minutes a member of staff was over to the table and taking their order. Strike looked down noticing that Robin was nervously fiddling with the rings on her left hand and suddenly remembered the male head next to hers when she was sat near the stage.

“So, how did you end up soaking wet?”

Robin told him. They then chatted with ease about the minutiae of their lives. Strike found himself beginning to ask most of the questions which made a change. When everyone knew who you were and your history, you tended to have to field a lot of curious and intrusive questions. Robin though tended to wait for him to tell her things about his life. When their drinks were put down between them, Strike lifted his pint in a toast, “Nice to meet you, Robin,” he said.

She smiled, picking up her glass and clinked it against his. 

Strike noticed it was a reserved smile and her eyes had become sadder as they had talked, maybe he was keeping her too long and she was too polite to get up and go. He decided to give her an out, trying to keep the pathetic disappointment out of his voice, “So, you’re here with your husband?” 

Robin went pink, suddenly self-conscious, “Oh, yeah, he’s over there with his – our – friends. He’s the tallest one near the front, wearing a rugby shirt – Matthew.”

Strike followed where she pointed. Her husband was clean-cut with chiselled perfect features. The blonde woman he was sat with was certainly enraptured, and she leant back in her chair and shook her blonde curls, in what Strike understood was obvious flirtation.

“And that’s the woman, who threw wine over you? Sarah, you said?”

“Yep, they’ve been friends since university, Matthew works with the other man, he’s Sarah’s fiancé,” Robin looked up at Strike and his open, kind eyes, set in his grizzly face, “I think they are sleeping with each other,” she said tightly, “Matthew and Sarah.”

“Shit!” Strike looked thoughtful. They had suddenly gone from talking about London life compared with country life to this huge thing. He felt his sympathy go out to her. She was telling him, someone she had only just met, something she did not seem to have got her own head around. He looked over to where Dave had pointed her out. The man she had been sat with, turned away from where he had been watching Eric who was the first act. He looked around, his eyes settling on Strike and his table companion. The man raised a hand, looking slightly astonished and confused. Strike recognised him as his accountant, Tom Turvey. The blonde women next to him that Strike hadn’t seen before must be the fiancé he had bragged about. Strike’s memory was excellent, which had its advantages as a comedian but also had its downside concerning his personal life. 

“Fuck, I know him! He’s my accountant…oh!”

“Yes, you gave him tickets for tonight,”

Robin’s husband was clearly enjoying the attention of the curly blonde. He was not stopping himself from reciprocating her wide smiles in response to the jokes Eric was now performing. He seemed to be returning uninhibited glances once Tom had turned away from them rather than concentrating on watching the show. When Strike looked back at Robin, his slight frown told her everything.

“You think they are too?”  
“Possibly,” His frown turned into an expression of being in pain, “Comedians and actors can read people pretty well,”

Robin sighed. She recognised diplomacy when she heard it. She was used to using it so much herself with Matthew. Strike watched the tears well up in her eyes again as she battled to stop them brimming over. He reached over to her hand on the table instinctively luckily for him Robin lifted her hand to cover her mouth as she thought of having to tell her parents, family and their shared friends back in Masham. Her brothers were the only ones who would not care, she’d always got the impression Matthew annoyed them with his love of southern ways and pretensions.

She whispered as much to herself as to Strike, “We’ve only been married a year!” how embarrassing it would be for her parents and the expenditure of the wedding itself. Robin started to feel the pressure of the fallout this would cause.

“I’m sorry you’re going through this. It probably won’t make you feel better, but I broke up with my fiancé recently,” Strike said softly. He was astonished that he had told her this, an absolute stranger when he had not even told his best friends, as evenly as he could he said, “She was cheating on me too.”

This painful admission offered up to Robin, made her feel understood and not alone, “Thanks for telling me. I’m sorry that happened to you too.”

“Well, this helps.” He nodded towards the stage, “Standing and telling a room full of strangers is a lot easier than telling friends you’ve known for years. Having them laugh at the sad fuck whose girlfriend for 18 years fucked off with her ex,” he looked at her ruefully and then suddenly his face changed to deadpan seriousness, making her laugh.

“You’re right it helps”

“Thanks!” he said pretending to be sarcastic. Strike heard Eric finish up his twenty minutes to loud applause and whooping. A stab of anxiety in his stomach made him wonder would the applause be as loud for him. Then he turned thoughtful again, “Do they know you know?”

“I literally only found out minutes before she dumped the wine on me,” Robin appreciated his shocked expression.

“Right, well do you think you could trust me and wait until my act has finished?”

She looked at the bearlike man who had so shot her prejudices about him to pieces in the last half an hour, “I’ve trusted you this far haven’t I?”

They smiled at each other as they each picked up their drinks, the cogs of Strike’s mind working hard at putting the pieces of his act into place.

“Robin!” Matthew was standing at the edge of the table and he was clearly irritated at finding his very attractive wife sat with Strike.

Strike stood up and offered his hand, “You must be Matthew?” It had been the right thing to say, Matthew suspicious expression was slightly less intense, “Glad you all could make it, Robin was just telling me how you work with Tom.”

Matthew looked at Robin and the glass of wine accusingly.

“Cormoran arranged some privacy so I could dry off in the toilet,” Robin pointedly reminded Matthew why she had to leave. He had the decency to look a bit embarrassed. 

“Right. Well if you’re okay now, are you coming back to sit with us?” Matthew pointed to the stage area

Strike made it easy for Robin, “I’ve got to get ready for my act? Nice to meet you again Matthew,” he nodded at the slightly shorter man, “Robin,” and he winked at her as her husband stalked off. 

“Thanks again,” Robin called after him.

“I’m not finished with you yet,” he said with a grin before disappearing through a staff-only door.


End file.
